The Lightning Brigade
by Bladex1200
Summary: His name is First Lieutenant Mordeci "Bones" Wrax. But to the Commissars of the 1st Kanadorian Enforcer Regiment, he is a heretic. 32 men. One mission: to ally with the Eldar and save their planet from Exterminatus, whatever the cost. Ready, set, go.
1. Prologue: The Plan

**Author Disclaimer: **I do not own Warhammer 40,000. All rights and reservations go to Games Workshop. Enjoy the story.

Space was a vast, empty place. Once, it represented humanity's endless, vast future - it was, as far as most humans could see, endless. The future was so full of hope then. It was so full of ideas. The mere mention of the future regaled the questioner with vivid tales of wondrous technologies, strange aliens, and peace on a universal scale. Something to work toward - something to work for.

But that future would never come. In its place would appear a twisted vision - something not gone terribly wrong, but oh so terribly right. A picturesque scene right out of a fairytale novel set afire, the characters torn limb from limb. The future, once so unlimited, came in waves of oppression - of hate. Once so endless, it became humanity's one wall - its one obstacle. The Imperium of Man, something of a dystopia, was the closest thing to "good" that could be described in this hellish vision of the millennia to come. But there is no morality - no scale of measurable "good" and "evil". For how could you justify a society bent on mass-genocide as "good"? And yet how could you claim a society concerned with self-preservation to be "evil"?

There is no chivalry. There are no knights. This millennia is not one of peace - for there is no peace. Forget everything you know about what the future might be like, for such wishes shall never be fulfilled. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace among the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter - and the laughter of thirsting gods.

But this future is not set in stone. There will always be the outlier, the deviant, the 'one who is not like the others'. There always has been, and there always will be. In this millennia, that outlier is Commissar Zaddion Stern. In a millennia of strife and bloodshed, he strives to bring forth peace. In a millennia of carnage and slaughter, he seeks to build alliances - to forge lasting bonds. While working as the head commissar for a backwater Imperial Guard world, whispers came forth from those who envied him that he was a daemon - that he consorted with the ruinous powers of Chaos. These were to be expected - people fear that which they do not understand. And he was not a man that was normally understood.

"Sir, did I hear you properly?" the trooper asked incredulously, "You want to go through with that outrageous plan to ally ourselves with the Eldar? The plan you made up last week?"

"Correct," Zaddion replied. He wasn't one for words, preferring actions to speak for themselves. True to himself, he saluted the man smartly and turned back to his desk, the guardsman still standing dumbly.

"But sir," the man protested, "It is... heresy. You are a commissar. Surely you know of-"

"I know," he dismissed the trooper with a gesture of his left hand, "But we should not be making enemies when we have so many already: Orks, Heretics, the Dark Eldar."

"And how," the man began to ask, but quickly stopped himself. Zaddion looked at him knowingly, and sudden realization dawned on the man, "You worked with them - the Eldar."

The Commissar nodded, his cap adjusting its position on his bald head, his mechanical right eye focusing on the guardsman's face, unblinking.

"Corinth," he sat at his desk and took his cap off, rubbing his glinting bald head gently with his hands, "We had a common enemy then. We have one now."

And with that, Zaddion gestured again that the man leave him be. Shrugging, the guardsman left the office. He walked slowly through the huge, empty halls, contemplating what he should do. What Zaddion was suggesting was heresy, pure and simple. If he turned the next corner, he'd bump into the door which led to the Lord-General's office. He could then quietly report Commissar Stern and be on his way.

Seven steps left, assuming he kept pace. His palms clenched.

But Stern had a point. The Lord-General, too caught up in his own glories and raised by a rich family, knew nothing of real battle. He was, as Zaddion had dryly put it, an armchair general. And then Zaddion had gone on to quote a Space Marine or something, citing that wars led by committee were doomed. Something like that. He shook his head.

Five steps. Sweat glistened on his brow.

It would be so simple to just report Zaddion. The man thought to himself - he had a lot in it for himself if he did so. He might get a promotion - maybe even take over the new commissariat position - and he'd gain some respect and trust from the Lord-General, always good things to have. But Zaddion was a good man. A good commissar - he took care of his men. He valued them, saw them as people, not just tools.

Three steps. He saw a guard pass him on duty. He saluted the man instinctively, then returned to his thoughts.

Who's to say that Zaddion would not just be replaced by a more "normal" - more vicious, more ruthless - commissar? The man shuddered, remembering his time on Lorn V, and the horrors that awaited his squad should he condemn them to being led by a possibly trigger-happy and incompetent man.

One step. He saw the door out of the corner of his eye, and his pupils read over the title and words, carved with a distinct gothic style:

_Office of Lord-General Jastilus Gallus, Commanding Officer, 1st Kanadorian Enforcer Regiment_

He passed the office without further word, his feet refusing to let him turn. Not paying any heed to his surroundings, he bumped into another on-duty guard.

"Sorry," he said, coming back to reality. The guard merely nodded.

"Uh..." the guard searched his memory for the man's name, drawing several blanks, "Think nothing of it... Bones, was it?"

"Yes sir," he replied, "First Lieutenant Mordeci 'Bones' Wrax, pleased to meet you."

"Private Narl," the man saluted him, his face bright under the light, "I just got here."

"Ah, a fresh recruit," Bones observed, "You'll like it here. The fighting's pretty bad out near the Tvinski plains - bloody warzone, what with us squaring off against the Chaos legions there. But you're new. You'll be on patrol here for a bit 'til you get your bearings."

"And then?" Narl's face seemed to contort with worry, though he appeared relieved when Bones laughed.

"I doubt you'll get to see any real fighting," Bones chuckled, "Campaign's mopping up the bastards left over from the old bid to take the sector. By the time you've got your legs on right, it'll be over and this place will be back to the old backwater world it used to be. Orks leave us well alone since they're too busy fighting the Dark Eldar, and vice-versa."

Narl seemed to relax upon hearing that, and he quickly remembered he was on guard duty. Saluting Bones smartly, he strode off, leaving Bones to contemplate Zaddion's heresy. The office of the Lord-General was still nearby, but he knew he couldn't bring himself to go back and report the commissar. So, he headed toward the barracks to get a small strike team arranged for the mission.

A few weeks back, when Zaddion had first mentioned the possibility of a temporary Eldar alliance to Bones, he'd worked out all the logistics "in theory" (at the time, Bones had been sure that Zaddion wasn't serious). The strike force, composed of 30 or so men, would have to move without Imperial support nor knowledge - if anyone loyal to General Gallus found out, they were in trouble. So he had his work cut out for him - building the task force, stocking them with decent weapons from the armory without drawing notice, and getting them some kind of vehicle transport and backup without contacting the Vehicle Headquarters commander, Lieutenant-General Guilliman.

The plan from there was clear-cut. They'd make their way through the various provinces - the main challenge being getting through the Tvinski plains quietly - until they got to the supposed location of the Eldar base: the Gold Concordat Valley, a desolate expanse of frozen wasteland flanked on three sides by unyielding, enormous mountain ranges. If they managed to get there in one piece, then the issue was getting the Eldar to agree to terms which would ensure their support in the coming feuds with their dark brethren and the raging Ork forces.

The plan, from all viewpoints, was supposed to fail.

But they had little choice. Rumors had been going around that Lord-General Gallus had received a rather disconcerting message from Segmentum Command: either he rid the planet of the foul xenos, or they would send in the Inquisition fleet.

An ultimatum: Exterminatus. The cleansing of a planet of all life - loyal and heretic, human and xenos.

But Bones was not about to see that happen. He stopped as he arrived at the exit door, bracing his clothing for the harsh cold outside. As he stepped out, he shivered and rubbed his arms, quietly walking towards the mess hall barracks. When he opened the door, the warmth he felt was an instant reprieve from the biting frost that permeated the rest of camp. Several guardsman looked up at him knowingly, nodding as he passed them - a few throwing mock-salutes. He grinned, grabbing a mess tin and getting in line for whatever foul-smelling rations they were serving today.

"Fried meat with synthetic bread ration," the servitor said mechanically, flicking its wrist and dropping an ugly-looking cup of slop on Bones' plate, "Next."

Bones took a drink cup and filled it before sitting at his usual table, surrounded by his subordinates. They all looked at him expectantly.

"I have news," the men perked up at hearing this, and he picked at his bread, "Commissar Stern has a... special assignment for us."

They waited.

"Finish your food," he looked around suspiciously, "Meet me at the barracks in three hours. No one be late - and don't tell anyone about our little meeting."

The men opened their mouths to question, but Bones was already stuffing his face with the rather unappetizing meal, and they caught on, doing the same. A few made rather hilarious faces as the bile rose in their throat - synthetic bread stopped tasting like bread after two weeks in storage.

The rations had been sitting in the warehouse for seven.

After finishing their meals, the men made small talk, each being careful to leave by himself or in pairs, never in a group. A lone commissar, eating at the table opposite theirs, looked suspiciously at the men as they left, though he quickly dismissed his claims after observing raucous laughter coming from the men still at the table. Still, he thought, it would be wise to check what exactly they were doing. Deciding it was his obligation to investigate this possible heresy, he waited until only Bones was at the table and took his tray to the disposal bin. As Bones walked past him to the exit, he quietly followed, shadowing him all the way to the barracks.

Unfortunately for him, and perhaps fortunately for Bones and his men, the barracks on Kanadorias had no windows - the cold would fracture normal ones, and those heavy-duty windows that did exist on the base were reserved for shared rooms: the mess halls, the offices, etc. As Bones shut and locked the door behind him, the commissar groaned in frustration and, in a last-ditch effort to figure out what it was those men could be doing, he slammed his ear against the door and, much to his chagrin, for his face was freezing, waited for them to speak.

"... Special..." the voices inside were hushed, but he could make out a few choice words, "... Tomorrow... Bring... Ammunition... Guns... Raid... Vehicles... Guns... Eldar..."

The commissar deduced that the "special assignment" he'd mentioned was simply an Eldar raid. Deciding against reporting such a thing - the Eldar were a pain in the ass anyways, so any unrecorded raids would suffice for him - he left the barracks, rubbing his cold cheek and ear all the while.

Meanwhile, inside the barracks, a plan was brewing...

"The Special Assignment that Commissar Stern has provided us with," Bones began, and the men perked up once more at hearing this, "Is a diplomatic mission. We'll be attempting to contact the Eldar and possibly form a temporary alliance to make our campaigns against the other heretics and xenos here a bit easier."

The men looked, astonished, and Bones was about to continue when he heard a clunking against the door. Waiting for several moments, he began speaking once more.

"We're to assemble tomorrow - all thirty of us," he explained, "Bring lots of ammunition and guns - preferably any special weapons you can get from the armory. We'll try to raid the depot for vehicles - hopefully we won't have to use any of those guns against them - and once we get some we're going to give the Lord-General the slip. If all goes well, we'll be rubbing shoulders with the Eldar by the end of the month."

"Where do we meet after getting our stuff?" one of the newer recruits, Private Quintus Ramirez, piped up. Bones opened his mouth to answer before hearing another clunking, and then loud footfalls as if someone had just left the barracks door. Ignoring them, he answered.

"Meet at the mess hall, but drop off your equipment at the barracks first," he held up a batch of keys, "I had one of my friends in the Adeptus Mechanicus make me 31 copies of the barracks key - one for all of you, one of me, and the master copy goes to the commissar."

As he passed the keys out, he warned each of them.

"Don't let anyone see you holding it," he nodded at each man, "Only pull it out once you have all your necessary equipment - you get one shot to drop your stuff off at the barracks. Don't even think about coming back here after breakfast until you have your stuff."

The newer recruits nodded eagerly, somewhat disturbingly excited about the heresy they were committing.

"But sir," another new recruit, Private Thaddeus Novus, asked, "What do we say if they ask us why we're requisitioning this equipment? What excuse would I have for needing a plasma gun or a flamer?"

"You won't need excuses," Bones grinned, pulling out a thick wad of paper, unrolling it, "These are copies of official Imperium supply documents - Commissar Stern got these forged from someone in the Administorium. He's got connections."

Each man took a slip and admired it. The seals, the names, the explanations - all of them looked official. Bones noted that each man had different supplies to requisition, so they were to all memorize their items so that they could appear convincing in front of the munitions and armory officers. After all the slips had been handed out, he instructed each man personally on what he was to do when it came time to raid the vehicles. The men nodded solemnly, and when all was said and done, Bones had each man sign a handwritten letter which stated that, should they betray anyone to the Lord-General, they would be shot by their fellow soldiers. This was a mission that they could not afford to fail - even if it was a mission that the Imperial Guard would never approve of.

The men had dreamless sleep that night. Some didn't even get any sleep at all, the excitement of the secret undertaking they were about to initiate all but robbing them of any rest they could possibly get. Soon enough, daybreak came.

It was time.

The men all woke up as usual, and Commissar Zaddion Stern walked in on them dressing, as he did every other day. He did his usual duties - checking for cleanliness, order, etc. But each guardsman saw the glint of madness in his eyes. They saw it, and they nodded. Stern nodded back in approval - a silent moment of acknowledgement in what the men were about to do. As soon as he completed inspection, ensuring the beds were crisp and the men crisper, he turned to face Bones.

"Lieutenant Wrax," he said sharply, Bones cringing at his use of his real name, "Your men are in order. Proceed to mess double-time for morning rations. I understand you have duties to complete concerning the Munititorium, correct?"

"Sir, yes sir," Bones replied, saluting Stern, his arms and legs stiff, "We have Imperial documents that dictate that we acquire heavy hardware, sir!"

Outside, another commissar halted as he passed Bones' barracks. He turned, waiting to hear what Zaddion and his men had to say next.

"Take your documents to the Munititorium offices and get yourselves armed right after morning rations," Zaddion spoke harshly, and the commissar outside nodded in approval, "Make sure you take your munitions and weaponry back to the barracks, and leave it there until further notice. I will be locking the barracks before afternoon rations, and I expect that your hardware will be stationed inside the barracks before I arrive. Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" the men inside replied. Zaddion felt the piercing gaze of the commissar watching him. His palms glistened with sweat underneath his black leather gloves. His mouth clenched, and he waited until the commissar nodded and left before continuing. He spoke in a low voice.

"Alright," he said, looking back carefully to make sure no one was observing him, "I understand Bones passed out all the spare keys?"

The men nodded in unison.

"Good, good," he spoke hurriedly, "Lock the door when you leave, and only unlock it one by one to put your supplies inside. Don't go in pairs or groups - go alone. As soon as we've assembled in the mess, I'll have everyone disperse to do their jobs. Bones, who is to collect the weapons that they leave in the barracks?"

"Uh," Bones went over his mental checklist, "Xanthis. You, Quintus, and Mallear are in charge of taking all the weapons as soon as everyone meets in mess. I tried to limit the load you'd be carrying for stealth purposes, but you'll be holding a lot. Try not to make more than one trip, alright?"

"Xanthis, Quintus, Mallear," Zaddion pointed out the door, "Proceed to mess. As soon as your mission is complete, meet us at the base entrance. Assuming we make it, of course. If we're caught, drop all the weapons off at the fail-safe. You won't be connected, I'll make sure of that. Good luck."

The three men nodded at him quickly, saluting, and left for the mess hall.

"Alright, I assume the rest of you will be 'commandeering' those vehicles with me?" Zaddion grinned at his rather exaggerated use of the word commandeering. The men nodded.

"Bones?" Zaddion turned to him, "While the men are eating, debrief them. Try to keep your voice down. I'll be finishing up some of the paperwork in my office. As soon as you see me heading for mess, check in with the men's status on the weapon run. Did you pass them the private vox channels?"

"Yeah," Bones paused, "How do we know you aren't being tracked?"

"I have friends in high places, Bones," Zaddion replied, turning to leave, "They made sure the vox channels are secured - they run the delayed astropath feeds as well as the local vox feeds on this planet. They won't fail me. Good luck. Dismissed."

And with that, Zaddion rushed out of the barracks and back to his office. Bones saluted the rest of his men, silently dismissing them for morning rations.

The men all gathered in the mess hall, chewing noisily as Bones explained the finer points of the plan to them in a low whisper. The meal itself was rather unsavory - week-old synthetic biscuits with moldy gravy and synthetic bacon. The coffee - month-old recaf with fake sugar additives - was not much better. The men barely tasted their meal, however, as they shoved down the food and checked their watches, mentally taking note of everything Bones was telling them. As soon as they downed their last refill cups of the horrid recaf they got, they all stood up and moved with haste. Several of the commissars looked up with interest, but none of them moved to follow nor track the squad that was leaving the mess hall.

None except Commissar Eliphas Thane.

Thane shadowed several of the men heading to the Munititorium offices, carefully watching for any signs of heresy. The men split up, confusing Thane, and he grunted as he had to pick one to follow. Tracking Bones, he noted that he and his men held Imperial notices for special requisition orders - heavy and special weapons, special munitions, etc.

To anyone else, this would've been normal work for a guardsman. But Eliphas Thane knew better. He used to work in the Munititorium, himself. And he knew those slips were fake - could tell from a mile away. The slips provided a near picture-perfect replica of a real requisitions form - so real that anyone else would be able to tell it was fake. But Eliphas Thane knew better, because he spotted one tiny flaw, a rather impressive achievement considering how far away he was and how small the writing was.

The slips' title font was written in a shade of crimson two shades too light for official Imperial documents. And it was then he knew that he was pursuing traitors. He thought about drawing his bolt pistol, but then realized he'd make too much noise - in the quiet, frigid camp, Bones would hear him unsnapping the leather case which held his pistol, and he'd turn around. Opting to instead threaten him with force, he silently drew his combat knife and snuck up on Bones.

But he didn't count on Bones being armed.

Eliphas lunged forward, intending to catch Bones in a death grip to knock him out. Bones heard the air move and instantly reacted. Flipping around, he drew his own las pistol and jammed it in Thane's mouth, pulling the trigger several times. The sickening sound of burning flesh, and the horrified grunts of Commissar Thane as his throat was both torn open and cauterized at the same time, filled the quiet air. As Eliphas slumped forward, dead, Bones knew he would be in trouble if anyone saw his little stunt. Dragging Eliphas, he quickly hid him behind one of the garbage containers, making sure to close the man's mouth and eyes so that no one would see the burn marks his pistol had made in the man's throat. When he was satisfied with his work, he quickly ran over to the Munititorium, hoping that he hadn't wasted too much time.

He sighed in relief as he saw that he still had about 20 minutes left on the clock before Zaddion was finished with his work and due back at the mess hall. Pulling out his fake requisition slip, he handed it to the munitions officer.

"60 hand grenades," he spoke straight, convincingly, and the munitions officer nodded at him.

"Going on some kind of raid?" he asked curiously, "Saw some men I know are yours asking for special weapons - plasma guns, shotguns, flamers."

"Something like that," he grinned at the munitions officer, nudging him, "Don't tell the general... It's a... surprise."

"Ah, one of those raids, eh?" the munitions officer raised an eyebrow as he handed him the satchel with the grenades, "Don't worry about me. Mum's the word. Shame the general doesn't approve of all those Eldar raids we've been sending out lately."

Bones chuckled - not at the joke, but at his own deception - and strolled out of the Munititorium quarters. Lightly tapping his ear, he turned on his vox, tuned to the private signal Zaddion had provided.

"Hey," he mouthed the words quietly, so that no one besides himself could hear them, "Do you boys hear me?"

A resounding number of quiet 'yes' responses came from the other side of the vox channel. He grinned.

"I just got my grenades," he walked slowly towards the barracks, checking every so often if someone was following him, "Has everyone else dropped their supplies off at the barracks?"

Another round of approval. One voice, however, stuck out.

"Uh, I had a slight complication," Bones recognized the voice of Private Quintus, "I spotted a commissar pointing at the barracks and whispering something to another guardsman. The man, a friend apparently, told me that the commissar is going to do a sweep of the barracks after afternoon rations."

"Shit," Bones cursed quietly, "I think it has something to do with Eliphas going missing this morning. Damn."

"Why would he go-"

"Because I killed him," Bones cut Quintus off. Several horrified gasps made their way onto the vox channel, and Bones shook his head, "He was going to stab me! What was I supposed to do?"

The vox went quiet. Bones continued.

"This doesn't change anything," he shook his head, "It just means we'll have to work faster. I'll alert Zaddion. Don't delay - as soon as we get the signal in the mess hall, leave ASAP and do your jobs. Quintus, Xanthis, Mallear - that goes double for you. Make sure all the special weapons and ammunition are thoroughly cleared out - leave our regular las rifles so they don't think something's up."

The men all voiced approval as Bones arrived at the barracks, fingering his key, "Alright. I'm at the barracks. Maintain vox silence until we meet at the mess hall."

The line went dead. Bones unlocked the barracks and quickly ran over to his bunk, dropping the grenade satchel by his pillow. He quickly inspected the room and found all the requisitioned weapons to be in order. As he left, he locked the door behind him and tried to maintain an air of calm as he quickly walked over to the mess hall. He passed several commissars, but none of them spared any looks at him. He was rather relieved at that. Arriving at the mess hall on time, he spotted Zaddion just about to enter. Stopping him, he pulled his shoulder.

"Zaddion," he whispered harshly, "I killed Eliphas."

Zaddion looked horrified for a moment, before his face reverted to its usual blank stare. His voice betrayed nothing as he asked, "Why?"

"He... followed me," Bones confessed, "Tried to get me in a choke-hold. I responded quickly - by accident, mind you - and shot him in the throat. He didn't make it."

Zaddion pondered the statement for a moment before shrugging, "You tell everyone over the vox that we have to move faster, now?"

Bones nodded quickly, and Zaddion proceeded to enter the mess hall. The men stood up, and Zaddion mouthed at them, "Bones is outside. Go do your jobs."

The men left one by one, a few picking up cups of recaf and chatting with other men as they waited for their time slot to come. Bones himself didn't bother to enter the mess hall, instead doubling back and running over to the vehicle wing. Taking position behind the supply truck doors, alongside several of the other men, he waited for the all-clear from the point man and quickly ran in. The group split up, and proceeded with the vehicle raid.

Two men - Private Archien and Private Tavos - ran up the stairs and found the main office unlocked - the men out on afternoon ration break. Carefully searching, they found the keys and pass codes to the needed vehicles: two Chimeras, and one Leman Russ tank. As they quickly made their way down to the vehicle platform, they found Bones waiting at the bottom with the rest of the men. Bones was seemingly obsessed with whomever he was talking to on his vox, so he ignored the two privates, motioning for the rest of the men to help them find the vehicles. Luckily enough, said vehicles were near the backdoor exit, allowing them to slip out unnoticed. They waited impatiently for Bones, who reluctantly joined them after terminating his vox call.

Meanwhile, three men quickly sprinted across the nearly empty camp after a near run-in with the commissar who had been planning to storm the barracks. The men, heavily laden with equipment ranging from plasma guns to grenades, were sweating buckets and their feet tired as they approached the imposing camp gate. Heavily engraved with gothic symbols, the gates stood as both a physical and symbolic barrier. Within lay order, peace, oppression. Outside was a hunting ground - free, yes, but filled with endless conflict and chaos. Both in the literal and metaphoric sense.

As they arrived carrying their ordinance, they slowed to a shuffle and dropped their payload near one of the empty barracks. Guard patrols were, thankfully, thinner as of late - afternoon ration time was a godsend - but the men nevertheless kept a sharp lookout for anyone who seemed a little too interested in what they were doing. Soon enough, they heard the rumble of engines, and were relieved to see the convoy steaming forward, Bones sticking up out of the Leman Russ' turret, having resumed his vox call.

"What do you mean you can't go?" he asked incredulously, "With all due respect, Commissar Zaddion, you came up with this crazy plan - at least have the balls to see it through. What do you mean I'm being insubordinate? Look who's talking!"

"Where's Zaddion?" Mallear asked, helping Xanthis and Quintus load the weapons, ammunition, and supplies on-board the Chimeras, "We have to go now."

"Hey, what are you doing with those vehicles?"

Everyone froze, before slowly turning their heads to the source of the voice: a commissar on top of the main gate. Beside him lay the bodies of the gate's guards - guards who'd been bribed by Zaddion to look the other way while his little "special assignment" was getting ready to shove off. The commissar sneered, gritting his teeth.

"I ought to have you all shot for heresy," his teeth curled into a cruel smile, "I'll bet the Lord-General will LOVE to hear about your excuses... Let's see how you worm your way out of this one, here-"

He was cut off by the sound of a bolt pistol firing, followed by a clatter as his own pistol fell to the ground, and his body crumpled, a bullet wound bleeding profusely out of his head. The men turned to the shooter.

"Huh," Zaddion released the clip on his bolt pistol and reloaded, nodding in satisfaction, "Headshot."

Everyone's mouths were agape. Had he just shot a fellow commissar - one above him in rank, no less?

Zaddion merely shrugged, pulling open the gate mechanism. The rusted, frozen gears were quiet for a moment, before suddenly roaring to life as they groaned under the weight of chains, slowly inching the door open. The commissar began walking towards the lift, which he promptly used to scale down the 50 foot walls. Upon arriving at the bottom, he walked briskly towards the Leman Russ, climbing into the gunner's turret, a rather astonished Bones getting up and making room for him.

"Never thought I'd see the day you shot a fellow Imperial," Bones propped himself onto the side of the tank, and one of the guardsmen tossed him a plasma gun, "But I guess there's a first time for everything."

Zaddion merely nodded, medals shining, and tapped on the tank's turret. The metal behemoth groaned forward, before picking up some speed and quieting down. As the convoy made its way through the gates, they knew not what awaited them.

**Meanwhile...**

"Ranger Yathool," an Eldar Banshee looked up from her crouched position, "Can you confirm what I just heard?"

"Confirmed," Yathool responded, "The Mon-Keigh are intending to propose an alliance. Foolish prospect, but I have reports from other Rangers... Rather disturbing reports."

"Of-" the Banshee began.

"Exterminatus," he shuddered at the word, "We have not yet found the Soul Stone of Farseer Bal'el. We need more time."

"I will send my report to Farseer Ria," the Howling Banshee got up, "Keep close watch on them, Yathool. Make sure they do not interfere with the Ork Warband."

"What of the Alpha Legion?" he asked, crawling silently across to another patch of ground, keeping his eyes and his gun carefully trained on Zaddion's head.

"They are an obstruction in our plans..." the Banshee contemplated, "Do not let them attack them either - not until Farseer Ria confirms that they are unimportant in the plan. Dissuade them from attacking by any means necessary - but do not reveal yourself, and do not kill any of the humans. They are... important."

And with that, the Howling Banshee quietly slipped off, skirting around the renegade convoy, and made haste toward the Eldar camp. A rather lucky find, she spotted several obstacles along the way, and set non-lethal traps to slow the advance of the convoy, ensuring they would be bogged down for days trying to get through.

But Lieutenant "Bones" Wrax and Commissar Zaddion Stern knew nothing of these deceptive machinations. They knew one thing: they were renegades, and that meant they had to succeed without support - without help from anyone except their own men.

And unbeknownst to anyone but Farseer Ria, victory would come at a terrible price - for all involved.

**At the Eldar Base...**

Farseer Ria's eyes widened as she got up from her meditation. Something had shifted... something not part of the plan. She peered into the multiple futures she thought she knew, but found her mind muddled and confused. Nervous but not disheartened, she got up from her dwelling and donned her armor, leaving her faceplate off. Taking a walk in the frigid, windswept landscape, she closed her eyes and searched for the source of the disturbance.

Her mind landed on the face of Commissar Zaddion Stern, set in a frown, as he sat atop his Leman Russ.

She opened her eyes.

**Author's Note:** Apologies for all of you waiting for me to update Lukas' Folly. The story appears to have hit a rut in chapter 3 (contemplating a rewrite right now), so for now I'm branching out with a new story. Lukas' Folly should have another chapter up by the end of next week (hopefully this week), and as for this story, we'll see.

As always, please review!


	2. The Eldar Exigency: Intervention

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed. As for specific people:

Fortune Zyne: Keep in mind that the Eldar are not intending to engage in actual combat - the Orks are doing it for them. An alliance would only drive them out into the open. We'll see where this goes though, and thanks for the review!

THAT guy83: Wish granted.

STARCRAFT is awesome: The Fanfic god will be pleased.

**Author Disclaimer: **I do not own Warhammer 40,000. All rights and reservations go to Games Workshop. Enjoy the story.

**Province: **_Yggdrasil_

The men had been marching for days. Long gone were the wonderfully cool and relatively easy-going paths of flatland that dominated the area surrounding the Imperial Guard fortress. Gone were the days spending time in the Chimeras playing cards and swapping stories. Sweat beaded down their foreheads, and their legs moved sluggishly as they trudged up the infamous Mt. Yggdrasil. The landscape, wonderfully alien in its strange caverns and carvings - somewhat resembling the namesake tree from Nordic Mythology - was nevertheless a brutal test of endurance for the men. Days were full of monotonous trudging through the cold snow, wishing for the respite of night. And nights were filled with restless, dreamless sleep, with men often begging for daylight to come and relieve them of the increasingly disturbing nightmares that plagued their psyches.

The Chimeras and the Leman Russ they had stolen were put to work as plows and pack mules. The Chimeras, already outfitted with snow plows, paved a wide path through the mountain pass and lugged along the grenades, rations, and equipment vital to the men's mission. The Leman Russ served as a rest and medicae station, with men rotating sleep shifts every few hours on board the tank while the others walked. Nearing the top of the pass, and with another three to four days walk down before they reached the border of the next province, the men were quickly losing hope and faith that their mission would ever be successful.

"Sir, it's almost night," Private Quintus observed, the others murmuring quietly in agreement as they continued marching, "We need to set up a camp before dark. The cold will kill us out here."

"We have to get to the other side of the pass before nightfall," Bones shook his head, snow brushing off of his shoulders as he walked, "The top is a kill-zone at night. Even if we huddle together, it gets to minus 150 up there at night. The vehicles will stall and we'll all freeze before morning comes."

The men groaned at this realization, before Xanthis asked, "Sir, why can't we just ride in the vehicles?"

Bones merely laughed cruelly, "Because, son, the vehicles are already carrying twice the maximum weight in weaponry and supplies. We could get away with riding in them on the flat land, considering how cold it is, but even in these conditions the engines will overheat if we push them with too much weight."

Zaddion popped his head out of the Leman Russ' turret and jumped out, motioning for Quintus to take a rest. Sighing in relief, the tired guardsman was helped on board by the Commissar and nestled into one of the empty chairs, napping quietly. Zaddion kept pace, eventually catching up with Bones at the head of the group. Bones made no move to acknowledge him, save a quick snap of his fingers as he shivered in the cold.

"You think we'll make it?" he asked, not bothering to turn around, "We have to stop some time. The men are exhausted, and we need to change Chimera drivers soon. Everyone's restless."

"Have to make it to the bottom," Zaddion replied simply, "No other way."

"Huh," Bones' lips cracked as he gritted his teeth, "Looks like we're in for the long haul."

For all intents and purposes, the renegades of the 1st Kanadorian Enforcer Regiment were dying. And dying fast.

**Two miles behind...**

Ranger Yathool moved silently through the snow, his footprints masked by the thin layers of fresh snow falling from the seemingly endless cloud layer that blanketed Mt. Yggdrasil year-round. His wraithbone armor was wet, but warm, as he had adjusted his energy consumption to place more power to the heating cells, leaving him dangerously vulnerable to enemy fire should he be ambushed.

"But no one ambushes an Eldar Ranger," he said smugly, "Especially not a bunch of bumbling guardsmen."

He was, however, nervous. He'd lost contact with the Eldar communications network after entering the mid-range climb on Mt. Yggdrasil, and since then had been relying on his own recollection of landmarks to guide him, unsure if the renegade Guardsmen actually knew the location of the Eldar camp or were merely chasing shadows.

He missed the warmth and companionship of the Howling Banshee. She had been a fiery one, but at least she was someone to talk to. When he was alone, sometimes his thoughts drifted to dark philosophical matters. Such as what happens to an individual when he or she enters the Infinity Circuit back on the Craftworld. Sighing to himself quietly, he tried once more to contact any nearby Eldar patrols, and grunted primitively when he found only static responding to him.

He walked steadily, the Imperial Guard barely visible at the edge of the mountain.

**At the Eldar Base...**

"What is your report?" Farseer Ria looked on with interest as the Howling Banshee recalled (with disturbing detail) her time spent tracking the humans alongside Ranger Yathool. Especially interesting was her recollection of the commissar, who suspiciously matched Ria's own vision of Zaddion riding on-board the Leman Russ. The Farseer paced quietly, taking in the information, before finally responding.

"I..." she met the Banshee's eyes slowly, "I may have seen him in my dream."

"Who?" the Banshee was apprehensive.

"Your Commissar," Ria's face contorted in a sense of confusion as she attempted to sound out his name the way the Banshee had done, to poor imitation, "... ZAddion. zAddion. Zaddion, yes?"

The Banshee nodded.

"Zaddion is of great importance," Ria concluded, "As are his guardsmen. What purpose they will serve, I do not know, but I suspect they shall be more of a blessing than a curse, if such a thing is possible. Do you know of Yathool's location?"

"His armor last gave off a signal at the base of Mt. Yggdrasil," she replied, "Assuming he is keeping his distance from the mon-keigh, he'll be halfway up the mountain and should be down by nightfall. That is, if the renegades don't run into Alpha Legion patrols."

"I thought we were rid of them," Ria eyed her darkly, "You told me of that."

The Banshee gulped inaudibly, "I... That is, my Banshees... We eliminated the ones on-duty. But these cultists are persistent. There's something they want in that place... I have strange thoughts there..."

"A Chaos Shrine," Ria concluded, "How could I not see this... Assemble your warriors and set out for Mt. Yggdrasil. Don't reveal yourselves to the humans, but assist them in any way you can from the shadows. Maybe, just maybe, they'll make it."

"Of course, Farseer," the Banshee bowed and sprinted, nearly gliding, out of Ria's quarters. The Farseer sighed, looking in the mirror before her. A veteran of many battles, her face was nonetheless unscarred and as smooth as a newborn's. Her fiery red eyebrows twitched as she stared, a soulless veteran staring back at her. In fighting to protect her people, she'd lost what she'd valued most.

**Province: **_Yggdrasil_

"Alright men, almost at the other side," Bones reassured them as they began walking down the slope of the mountain. The hardest part of the trek behind them, the men were even more restless as they saw the alien star falling beneath the horizon. They had, possibly, two to three hours of light left before the darkness swallowed up the other side of the mountain. And, tired as they were, they feared the dreams they felt on this mountain. At least, they hoped, they would be rid of the nightmares of Khorne and his Bezerkers tearing their flesh asunder whilst they slept.

"I hear something, sir," Quintus looked back, peering into the darkening peak of the mountain, "Nothing... Could've sworn I heard something."

"That's what happens when you don't get enough sleep," a veteran of many campaigns, Corporal Gebbet merely patted him on the shoulder, "Come on, you don't want to fall behind."

"Alright, I guess," Quintus shrugged and picked up the pace, catching up with the rest of his squad. Strangely enough, despite being dead-tired, he felt a rejuvenation of energy as he stood with his comrades, a creeping feeling coming up his spine when he turned once more to the darkness and saw nothing there.

A quiet sigh was engulfed by the wind as the Ranger released a long overdue breath. He continued shadowing the men, shaken by their uncanny ability to spot his movements. Though his steps were swift and silent, he soon grew weary and tired from following the guardsmen for the entire day. He silenced his stomach with a pointed glare as he watched the guardsmen finish their march for the day and set up a small camp.

The setup was crude, but effective. The Chimeras acted as windbreakers, and the men slept behind them. Those who were most tired or who had succumbed to frostbite were allowed to rest in the tank. No fire was permitted, as the warmth it would provide would be far overshadowed by the fact that the fires would act as a beacon, attracting any curious cultists within miles of the camp. Rations were distributed silently, eaten quickly, and afterwards came the most joyously hideous part of the evening.

Sleep.

The men were eager to fall asleep first, for one good reason. Those awake had to watch as their comrades shuddered and groaned in their sleep, subjected once more to the hellish visions of Chaos. There was something unholy about the place, Bones knew, but what it was he was not sure. Having been the last man to finish eating, Bones decided against sleep - he couldn't get any anyways, what with all the men groaning and writhing disturbingly - and stood guard over the camp on top of the Leman Russ, a plasma gun cradled carefully in his arms. His eyes began to droop slightly as he began succumbing to the crippling tiredness that had claimed his other men. Refusing to submit himself to another night of his flesh being torn asunder by Khorne, he got up off of the tank and poured himself another cup of recaf from the supply crates. He grimaced as he saw that the rations - whilst still plentiful - were considerably thinner than before and being lost quickly. As he sipped his recaf in silence, he felt a shadow watching him from outside of camp.

Not wanting to awaken his men - and unsure if they would be normal or insane when awakened - he braced himself and, against his better judgment, walked out of the camp. He looked rather silly: plasma gun hanging off in one hand and his quickly cooling cup of recaf balanced in the other. Looking around, his vision obscured by the snow and wind sweeping around the mountains as it usually did, he spotted nothing but waited, quietly sipping his coffee.

Soon enough, a figure emerged from the shadows.

"Don't move," Ranger Yathool warned, his sniper rifle raised, "Or I will fire."

Exhausted and unwilling to put up a fight, Bones relented, "Easy. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Because you can't," Yathool's voice held a tinge of arrogance, "I'd be long gun before your plasma gun's discharge even got close to me, mon-keigh."

"Eldar," Bones muttered under his breath, straining to make out the Ranger's figure in the storm, "We... we're rebels."

"Heretics?" Yathool toyed with him. Best not to let him know that he'd been tracked for a while, he decided.

"No, not rebels like that," Bones stumbled on his words, "Rebels like the... friendly kind. We're here to assist you."

Yathool chortled, "Very funny, mon-keigh. I don't like funny."

He shot off a warning shot, whizzing a shuriken past Bones' face. Bones yelped in reply, "Hey! Least you could do is leave me alone! Good Emperor!"

It was then that Yathool suddenly heard voices over his headset. Realizing he was past the mountain's obscuring shadow, he listened intently.

"Yathool," the voice was soft, but fiery. The Howling Banshee from earlier, he realized, "This is Howling Banshee Tara. I'm bringing a squad of Banshees. Ria has spoken: do not attack the humans. They will be prove to be valuable - especially their leader... Commissar Zaddion. Help them, but do not expose yourself."

"A little late for that," Yathool muttered. Bones caught him.

"Hey, who're you talking to?" Bones' eyes widened as he realized what was going on - or so he thought, "Shit! You're getting your friends, aren't you?"

Bones stumbled off as Yathool argued with Tara, intending to alert his men. He felt something happen, however, and his feet stopped moving, his cup of coffee flying out of his hand and the ceramics shattering as they hit the cold ice. His lower body refused to move, and he felt an intense stabbing pain radiating up his back.

"Y-you shot me," he realized, "My spine..."

Though he felt the blood pouring out, there was a strange absence of pain - almost as if he was watching a movie rather than experiencing an actual bleed-out. His hearing went in waves, and as he slipped into oblivion he swore that he'd heard the melodic, beautiful voices of Banshees singing to him on the horizon.

**A few hours later...**

"Ugh," Bones' eyes cracked open, and he peered silently out, assessing his surroundings, "W-what happened?"

He spotted a Banshee lying in the corner, staring into a small fire they'd set up, "Oh, you're awake."

"Clever observation," he snorted, grunting as his waves of pain danced around his spine, "Ugh... Who shot me?"

"Interesting first question," a voice noted, the figure walking towards the fire, his frame shrouded in darkness, "That would be me."

Bones reached instinctively for his plasma gun, and his face contorted in confusion for a moment when he only found air by his side.

"I took the liberty of relieving you of your weapons," Yathool grinned beneath his mask, the expression lost on Bones, "Don't worry. If I wanted you dead, I would've aimed a little higher than your lower spine."

"What do you want, then?" Bones asked, "And where the hell are we?"

"We are in a small camp, a few miles ahead of the rest of your... renegades," Yathool spoke with clear distaste in his voice, "Your friends are still sleeping. To be honest, we didn't think you'd wake up until after dawn."

"Well the commissar always said I was a tough one," Bones muttered, looking around, "So what am I here for, then?"

"So resigned for a newly-captured mon-keigh," the Banshee said, "You are more cordial than the rest of the humans we've been forced to work with on this wretched planet."

"Not like I have a choice," Bones tapped his fingers nervously, "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a cup of recaf lying around, would you?"

"What?" Yathool blinked, "Ah, that disgusting brown drink. I never understood why you drank that... More to the point, we captured you because we can't have you revealing our locations to your men. They are... tainted."

"You accuse my loyal men of heresy?" he asked, astonished.

"None of the sort," Yathool quickly answered, "Merely, they are under the influence of a powerful Chaos shrine nearby. The Chaos Sorcerer leading this war band knows the general location of your men - he does not need to know that there are Eldar on this planet either. So far, such knowledge has escaped his puny mind, and we hope to keep it that way. Hence, your capture."

"But wouldn't I be revealing your location anyways, since I'm tainted as well?" Bones shifted, testing his back.

"You are... special... in that regard," Banshee Tara, back from a scout patrol, quietly depressed her helmet and set it down, revealing her gaunt, heretically beautiful features, "Our minds detect no taint radiating off of you. Whether that is because the sorcerer is hiding it from us or because you are genuinely immune to the taint of Chaos remains to be seen."

"And you are..." he tried to keep his composure but let out a slight groan when he felt more pain shoot up his back.

"You seem pained, mon-keigh," Tara was the first of all the Eldar to show any concern for him, although he assumed that was because she was the only one whose face he could see and thus judge.

"You don't say?" he replied, "Your little ranger friend over there decided it would be funny to blow out my lower spinal discs."

"I was doing what I had to," Yathool's voice was grating, "If you would've just stayed put like I'd told you, you wouldn't be in incredible pain right now."

"Feth this," he tried getting up, crying out and stumbling down in pain as his back gave way. His face landed right in front of Tara's impatiently tapping foot, and he groaned.

"I know I'm quite beautiful, mon-keigh," Tara mocked him, "But there's no need for worshipping, now, is there?"

_You mock him, _her inner voice told her, disgust pouring out, _and to think that this arrogant, borderline stupid race used to be the rulers of the universe for millennia. No wonder the Imperium is so intent on destroying us._

_You know nothing of these humans, _she retorted, though her haughty smile remained and no one could tell she was even talking to herself, _They destroy our worlds - kill our people. And yet you think there is something worth saving in this so-called "Imperium". The last time I checked, that meant an empire - but all I see before me is a lone guardsman doubling over in pain._

_Speaking of which, _her inner voice reminded her, _He was only trying to help your people. Do not make more enemies. We Eldar have enough already in our dark brethren and the demons of Chaos. Help him._

_Why should I help - _she began, then paused as she saw him muttering to himself quietly, reminding her of her early years in her own youth - back when the children on the Craftworld used to mock how she heard voices in her head (the others had yet to develop their distinct personalities... she was special in that regard) and the many lone days she spent among the wildlife. A pang of guilt ran through her, and the confident smirk she had on her face curled into a tight-lipped frown as she reminisced about days long past.

"Emperor help me," Bones muttered, gritting his teeth as he held back tears and crawled back to his old position, humiliated. An awkward silence passed, and Bones looked up to see Tara genuinely apologetic, her eyes shining. She wordlessly sat down next to him, motioning for Yathool to bring over a medikit she'd found whilst silently searching through the renegades' camp - luckily, the men were quite heavy sleepers, though their faces betrayed the taint she'd suspected earlier. She motioned for Bones to turn over, and he quietly complied, shifting uncomfortably as she peeled off the burnt part of his armor and medicated his wound to the best of her abilities. He wouldn't be back 100% any time soon, but at the very least he'd be able to walk and not be a burden to her squad. When her bandaging was complete, he turned around and tested himself, feeling much better. Through it all, the camp had been silent, save for the rustling of the wind. Bones felt it appropriate to speak.

"Alright," he said, "Let's start over. Lieutenant Mordeci 'Bones' Wrax, 1st Kanadorian Enforcers."

"Howling Banshee Tara," the Eldar greeted him awkwardly, "Craftworld Ni-Shan, as are our fellow Eldar."

"Ni-Shan," Bones tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Ni-Shan... Where have I heard that before?"

A shot rang out as Tara whipped her head around, catching sight of a falling cultist, a Banshee huffing nearby as she replaced her shuriken pistol in her holster.

"He followed me back," the Banshee said, "Didn't notice him because I was going too fast. Have some important reports."

Tara nodded at her.

"I could've sworn I'd heard of Ni-Shan," Bones was immensely perplexed.

"The cultists are becoming a real threat," the Banshee was grave, "Most of the Chaos Marines are dead or dying - the Imperial Guard is good for something, I guess - but they've already done the damage. More and more of the restless locals are becoming cultists, and if we don't find the soul stone of-"

"Hush!" Tara warned, "The mon-keigh! He-"

"Now I know where I've heard it before," Bones brightened, "Farseer Bal'el! My regiment fought him back on Kanadorias III, the other habitable planet orbiting this star."

"He died here," Tara said, finding no use in withholding the goal, "His ship crashed near where our base is set up. We're here to recover his soul stone before Slaanesh claims it for Chaos. But so far, we've had no luck, and with these disconcerting reports of increased Chaos activity we might end up with a planet-scale war on our hands before we can find him... And if that happens..."

"Then we must retreat back to our Craftworld," Yathool finished, "And Bal'el will never have peace. He deserves that much, at least."

"He was a worthy opponent," Bones found himself feeling sympathetic, nodding in agreement, "I understand... And where do my men fit into this?"

"You claim you want an alliance, do you not?" Tara asked, "An alliance would be beneficial to us both. We can assist you in repelling the Dark Eldar, Chaos, and Ork forces on here, and in exchange you can help us find Bal'el's soul stone. We have no use for this planet, and will leave as soon as our mission is complete."

"You got it all wrong," Bones laughed hollowly, "The Imperial Guard general is too haughty to accept your help... We've come to request you help us with a... change in management, so to speak."

"You wish for us to assassinate your Lord-General, mon-keigh," Yathool spoke cautiously, "Not an unwarranted request. Under the leadership of someone more tolerant, perhaps your... what was his name? Zaddion, I believe, the alliance would go much more smoothly for both of us."

"How do you propose we go about eliminating him?" Tara unsheathed her blade, much to Bones' dismay, and began twirling it in strange, erratic patterns, "A straight-up onslaught won't work - if the rest of the mon-keigh catch wind of it, an alliance will be nigh impossible."

"Could you please refrain from using... whatever word you use to refer to humans?" Bones spoke with disdain, though he did so carefully, eying Tara's blade all the while, "We have names, you know."

"Right..." Tara ignored him and Bones frowned, "More on-point, should we push for a shift of power now or later? We can't be sure of the rest of his" - she motioned at Bones - "squad's intentions, so if we willingly submit we may find ourselves on the firing line rather than in the base."

"But if you wait," Bones cut in, "Then the Lord-General will have more time to consolidate his position - and that means it'll be harder to dislodge him from his seat of power. We're in the minority, you know - not all the guardsmen would come willingly to run out and meet you - if that was so, then you would've already been working with us by now."

"We must not reveal ourselves... But this mon-keigh complicates things," Yathool paced impatiently, and Bones harshly reprimanded him for his use of the term 'mon-keigh', "We can't possibly keep him with us - he'll cause too much trouble while we're stalking his team..."

"I just got a missive from Tara," another Banshee spoke up, "We're to assemble with the humans... She says they are imperative to us achieving our goals here. Lieutenant Mordeci, it would seem you have earned the Farseer's graces."

Bones shifted uncomfortably with the use of his real name before replying, "I'm... honored, I suppose. Do you know where the camp is, then? I'm sure the men will be rather pleased to meet you."

"Right this way," Yathool helped him up, and motioned for the Howling Banshees to pack up the spartan camp they'd set up and put out the dying fire. As they walked, Bones couldn't help but feel nervous. 20 pairs of eyes stared at his back, each carrying a honed, finely-crafted blade capable of running him through in mere seconds. The fact that the pairs of eyes wielding the blades were not exactly the most friendly people he'd met did not comfort him whatsoever.

The alien sun slowly rose as the Eldar strike team approached the camp Bones had been kidnapped from several hours prior. Relieved to see fellow humans, he couldn't help but curl his lips into a grin as he saw Zaddion standing guard, evidently confused as to why Bones was walking alongside the Eldar Ranger and Banshees. The rest of the men were still asleep - restlessly, though they seemed to calm somehow as Bones arrived - and the camp was otherwise silent except for the quiet steps of pattering feet as the Eldar made haste to the triangle of vehicles.

"About time you came back," Zaddion seemed... knowing... As if he had expected this all along. He wasted no time in introductions, which were, again, short, as per his style, "Commissar Zaddion Stern."

He saluted, and the Eldar in turn introduced themselves quietly, stating their mission and purpose. With the formalities put aside, Zaddion took to discussing tactics with Yathool and Tara as the rest of the Howling Banshees sat quietly, watching the humans with a strange, almost obsessive curiosity.

"Your kind are quite... interesting," one leaned in closely at a sleeping soldier, "Do you always writhe when you sleep - does She Who Thirsts dream of consuming yourselves?"

"She Who Thirsts?" Bones looked confused, and the Banshee elaborated. He blinked, "Ah, Slaanesh. Well, no, we're not normally like this. This mountain has something... unholy about it. I don't know what it is but I'm afraid to sleep in its shadow. To be honest, being knocked unconscious was the first time I got any dreamless sleep in a while... In a way I'm thankful for it, I guess. Dreams turn to nightmares pretty often here."

The Banshee nodded in understanding, but remained quiet. Bones' stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't finished his cup of recaf before being unceremoniously shot in the back. Getting up, he walked over to one of the Chimeras and grabbed another disgusting-looking ration pack, tearing it open and emptying its contents onto a nearby stump. The Eldar took little note of him, and continued observing the humans.

**Planetside:**

Across the planet, a shadow fell across the Warp as a strange, alien presence made itself known on Kanadorias I.

Along the eastern seaboard, Imperial Guard forces under the command of Commissar Kamador Jones began a series of long-ranged bombardments, squaring off against Alpha Legion forces stationed on a nearby island. With the elimination of these forces, the main chunk of the Chaos legion that had ravaged the planet for centuries would finally be annihilated, and for once the Imperial Guard could claim to be doing its job.

The Ork Warband, under the supervision of Farseer Ria, had renewed its attacks upon the central valleys of the Imperial Guard supply routes, decimating the Guard's attempts to push northward (unknowingly towards the Eldar stronghold) and sowing destruction in its wake. Warboss Grotstompa was... queer... for an Ork. Displaying increased mental capacity compared to most if not all of his brethren, he actively partook in dealings with the Farseer - exchanging military support for what the Warboss called "a bunch a good scraps". Ria could only hope that Zaddion was as open to Orks as he was to Eldar.

But all was quiet on the western front, as a quiet storm passed in, dropping a fresh layer of snow. 32 men, freezing and shivering, slept quietly as their commanders discussed plans with the Eldar.

**Author's Note: **And that wraps up chapter 2 of "The Lighting Brigade". For those of you watching "Lukas' Folly", I'm afraid I haven't made much progress on chapter 3. I will find some way to continue the story, but for now I'm shelving it on hiatus since I can't come up with an exact date for updating. This chapter's pretty late as well, so I apologize. I, rather unfortunately, cannot control my muse. I'm rather dissatisfied with this chapter as a whole and feel that it's a big downgrade from the previous one.

Expect to see more Orks and Eldar meddling in the next few chapters. I'll throw in some Chaos and Guard as well... Space Marines are a no, for now at least.


	3. The Eldar Exigency: Annihilation

**Author's Disclaimer: **I do not own Warhammer 40,000. All rights and reservations go to Games Workshop. Enjoy the story.

_"It is said that no Ork can comprehend anything higher than a child's mentality. This has proven to be a big issue, as childhood ignorance and selfishness combined with the superhuman strength and massive size of an Ork is dangerous - and potent as well. Many an unwary Space Marine and Guardsman has fallen from underestimating the strength and capability of these beasts - and many will fall in the future from not heeding these warnings: Do not mess with Orks. They are an enemy as vast as the Tyranids and as resilient as the Necrons. They are the green tide." _- Scholar Jonas Tallison, _Schola-Librarium Texts IX - XXI_

Warboss "Humie Killa" Grotstompa was not pleased.

The blood-red metallic sheen of his gob shone brightly under the alien sun as he swatted his head back and forth, directing the boyz now part of his massive Warband. Many of the boyz were Freebooterz and pirates, having been run off of nearby Kanadorian worlds by the constant efforts of the Kanadorian Enforcers. A few were feral Orks still around from a previous WAAGHH! that had failed - the Ork Warboss, Choppa 'Ead, having been defeated and executed by the 1st Kanadorian Enforcers a few hundred years ago.

But Grotstompa was different in a single regard: he was intelligent. And not just by Ork standards, either. This was an Ork who, while still as bloodthirsty and thuggish as his bedfellows, was also capable of proper speech (though he preferred dealing in Orky tongue, he would speak more politely to those he saw as potential allies and minions) and - most important of all - was clever. He saw a bargain to be made when Farseer Ria and the Eldar of Ni-Shan emerged from their webways and offered to assist him in assaulting valuable targets in exchange for his help with slowing the advance of the Imperial Guard.

The Eldar would gain time to look for their soul stone, and Grotstompa got lots of battles to be fought and blood to be spilled. All in all, the deal worked out just fine. Except for one thing:

It couldn't last forever.

Grotstompa may have been different, but he was still an Ork. Fighting was in his blood, killing in his veins. Once the Eldar saw no more use for them, he'd be left without a war to fight - and his WAAGHH! would collapse. Determined to ensure that his Warband would not disintegrate, he began a series of assaults across Kanadorias I, aimed at key Imperial manufacturing plants, to try and capture a working manufactory so he could assemble a fleet to raid other planets in the system. So far, his efforts had been met with relative success - he'd already captured a spaceport near the frozen lakes in the south which would supply the fuel and some of the parts necessary to both fuel his ground machines as well as to propel his ships into orbit... Except that he had no ships: which is where the manufactoriums came in. But Farseer Ria had been stopping him from capturing the nearby manufactorium of Antioch, and he was quickly becoming impatient with her scheming.

He felt a hand brush upon his bruised, battered, green skin and turned to see Ria, her form barely visible due to the cloak she was deploying. None of the boyz knew about Grotstompa's arrangement with her, and he wasn't exactly anxious to give out such information now.

"You promised me a sustainable Warband," his voice was gnarled and Orky, but he attempted to speak Low Gothic with as much strength as he could muster, "You lied."

"I cannot allow you to destroy these worlds," she said softly, a mere buzzing in his green ears, "They may belong to the mon-keigh, but they are near Eldar Craftworlds. We need them as a buffer zone."

"What about me and my plans?" he stomped his Power Klaw on the ground for emphasis, "I's supposed to be killing humies, and you're making me wait. Don't make me regret working with you, pointy-ear."

"Eh, boss?" one of Grotstompa's lieutenants, Smasha, walked over, his dakka deffgun groaning as he shifted back and forth, "Who's yahs talkin' to?"

"None o' your business!" Grotstompa reverted to Ork tongue and turned, obscuring Smasha's view of the Farseer's outline, "Now gets movin' and get your boyz ready! I's wants dat humie mek shop by the end of da day! Do yah get dat, git?"

"Oi, uh, yeah," Smasha backed away from the agitated Warboss, "I got it, boss. Take da mek shop, yeah."

As Smasha scrambled off to assemble his boyz, Grotstompa turned back to Farseer Ria, "I cannot wait for you to finish your searching. The boyz are getting restless, and I'll have to attack soon. So either get me some ships so I can raid some other system after you're gone, or I'll call up all my boyz and attack the manufactories at Antioch. Either way, I'm getting rid of those stupid humies."

Farseer Ria merely glared before slipping away, Grotstompa barely registering she was gone before he turned back to his Warband preparations...

**Province: **_Yggdrasil_

"You know, it just occurred to me," Bones leaned on one of the Chimeras as the men began their daily routine, "Since the men have met you and such, doesn't that mean the Cultists know we're here - since they're tainted and such?"

"Already taken care of," Yathool replied coolly, eying the other guardsmen with suspicion as they stretched, consumed their morning rations, and got themselves ready for the long trek ahead, "The Orks are ensuring that the Chaos Sorcerer leading them is cut off from the main cultist force, so he will pose little threat to our plans until we're forced to confront him - that will be something else entirely, mon-keigh."

Bones grimaced at the use of the "mon-keigh" insult (he had no idea what it meant, but was sure it was akin to something low, perhaps an insect or monkey). Brushing it off, he asked, "So you've been in contact with the Orks, then?"

"We've been pointing them at valuable targets - trying to slow down your soldiers to prevent ourselves from being found," Yathool dusted off some falling snow from his shoulder and observed with some amusement as one of the guardsmen blushed and turned away when a Howling Banshee caught him gawking at her.

"So you're responsible for the recent raids," Bones confirmed his suspicions, eying his plasma gun on the ground nearby. Yathool looked over at him, the tension building in the air, before Bones smirked, "I suppose you could've pointed them at worse targets, so it's not all bad."

"We intended to slow your advance, not cripple your defenses," Yathool nodded at Tara as she drew her blade and practiced several fanciful maneuvers, earning the eye of Bones as Zaddion did his usual morning inspection, "I suspect you find her form pleasing, mon-keigh."

"Uh..." Bones turned towards him, his mind scrambling for an excuse. Finding none, and sensing that Yathool wouldn't have bought one anyways, he merely deflected the question, "Commissar Zaddion, are the men ready to go?"

"Mhmmmm..." Zaddion waved his hand at him as he checked over the supplies on-board one of the Chimeras. Bones nodded at him and walked over, grabbing another ration pack and some recaf for his morning meal. As he ate silently, Tara continued her swordsmanship and Yathool, growing bored, drew his shuriken rifle and calibrated the sights. The camp was filled with the sounds of cracking, chewing, and rumbling as the men ate, packed the supplies up, and did pushups and sit-ups in preparation for the long trek to the Eldar camp. Soon enough, everything was in place - but there was a slight hitch.

Slight being an understatement.

"How badly is it damaged?" Quintus asked, peering into the dark recesses of the Leman Russ, vainly trying to recall his above-average (read: little more than cocktail-level) knowledge of repair and mechanics. He prayed that he'd be able to repair the tank as well as a Techpriest - hell, he'd settle for at least getting it running half-decently, machine-spirits be damned.

"Looks like a few of the targeting cogitators are shot," Private Williams, the tank's main commander, observed, "A lot of wires are missing - looks like someone just started tearing things out randomly... Strange thing is there ain't a scratch on her outer hull. It's just the insides that are all screwed up. Emperor help us."

"I dunno about the cogitators, but I think I can fix the chewed-up wiring," Quintus grabbed at his side for a flashlight, and Gebbet promptly handed him one, "Let's take a look..."

Yathool merely noted with distaste at how slow progress was going, "You'd think that Zaddion would have had contingency plans to account for these kind of issues. I suppose even the more intelligent mon-keigh have logic failures occasionally."

"Looks like this was a stealth op," Bones turned to Zaddion, "I'm thinking cultists."

Zaddion made no move to acknowledge him.

Bones began rebuking his own arguments, "No, cultists aren't that quiet... And anyways I was here for most of the night so they couldn't have snuck in without cloaks. And cultists don't have cloaks... Although, I was shot and out for a few hours so..."

As he continued debating with himself, Zaddion pulled out a small dataslate and browsed the archives - his own personal journal, recorded from his days in the Schola all the way up to his planning of the squad's renegade maneuvers. Opening a new entry, he began typing absentmindedly:

_Date... Not sure actually. Leman Russ broke down. Bones thinks it's some Chaos troops pulling a fast one on us. I'm not so sure: Chaos isn't that stealthy. I was up, so I knew who was in-camp so the only way for someone to mess with that tank was to either be cloaked or a master at deception._

_Which, now that I think of it, pertains mainly to Eldar tactics. I'll keep a mental note to watch them closely - wouldn't want to mistake wolves for lambs. Don't trust Yathool - something wrong with him. Tara is standoffish, but honest. Farseer Ria... Have not communicated much beyond initial contact when Bones was shot and dragged away from camp. Will have to write down further analysis later._

_Dreams have been getting worse lately. Arrived at this Emperor-forsaken rock four days ago, and the nightmares were just tugs on the mind. Now, almost all dreams involve some form of torture, killing, or turn to madness... Will have to keep a close eye on the men as well and dispatch them at the first sign of heresy. Best for all of those involved if I catch it early. My own dreams are rather troubling, but they're not unbearable... For now, at least, I can suppress them. Hopefully we get out of the shadow of Yggdrasil by the end of the day so the men can get some well-deserved rest. I_

Zaddion dropped the dataslate and whipped his head up as a bolter round whizzed past his cheek. Realizing an ambush was imminent, he snatched up his discarded dataslate, pocketing it in his thick trench coat, and ducked for cover as he drew his own bolt pistol. Before he even had time to think, he had already begun calmly dispatching orders.

"Cultists," his mind noted, scanning the environment with his mechanical eye, "Take cover, three meter spread. Make every shot count. The Emperor is watching you."

The men dove to the ground and some slammed themselves into the sides of the vehicles, gritting their teeth as they tried to block out the sound of bolter rounds whistling past their frail bodies, barely scraping their flak vests. They all readied their guns and peeked out from behind their chosen cover, returning fire as the skirmish escalated.

Bones slipped behind a nearby rock as his helmet was shot off by a bolter round. His eyes widened as he felt his head suddenly lighten, and he ducked instinctively as the cultist sprayed wildly in his general direction. Hearing the clicking of an empty magazine, he quickly snapped himself up and raised his plasma gun, the cultist's eyes widening in surprise. _Bang!_

The cultist's body contorted as the superheated plasma melted into his chest, disintegrating his lungs and heart. He slipped back, and was dead before he even hit the ground, his body still smoking and glowing from the impact. Another cultist stepped over him, ignoring his ally, and raised his flamethrower.

"Blood for the Blood God!" he grinned madly as he pulled on the flamer's trigger, spewing promethium at the vehicles. Several men screamed as flames passed harmlessly around them, their bodies shielded from the deadly heat by the stalwart Chimeras. Bones raised his plasma gun and took aim once more.

The cultist saw him fire out of the corner of his eye before exploding in a panoply of both blue plasma and orange and red promethium. The shrapnel of his fuel tanks spewed in several directions, acting as an impromptu hand grenade which shredded several unlucky cultists still firing at the vehicles. Their bodies hit the floor with a resounding _Crunch!_ as the mixture of hot metal and the cold ground fractured their frail bones.

Zaddion popped out from cover and took aim with his bolt pistol, the heads of several more cultists disappearing in a red haze of chunks and blood. Clicking repeatedly until he realized the magazine was empty, he snapped the bolt pistol back to his side and drew his power sword from his red sash, raising it up as he let out a primal growl. He leapt over the Chimera, the residual heat from the flamethrower licking his boots, and charged at a nearby cultist.

"Skulls for the-" the cultist drew his own pathetic-looking combat knife. Zaddion swatted it away with one stroke, knocking the cultist to the ground, "Skull Throne!"

"Quiet, heretic," he rammed the sword into the cultist's throat, and soon the lips of the Chaos worshipper flowed a rich crimson, making gurgling noises. Another bolter round struck Zaddion in the shoulder, and he groaned, falling back. Squinting, he grabbed for his shoulder before realizing the round had struck his metal chevrons, harmlessly falling away from him. A second round, however, embedded itself in his leg, and he looked up to see a cultist groping for another magazine as he ejected the smoking clip from his bolt pistol.

"Where is your God-Emperor now?" the cultist asked, reloading the bolt pistol, laughing all the while. Suddenly, his expression changed to one of intense pain as he looked down, seeing one of his legs bleeding profusely. Confused, his eyes traced the source of the bleeding until he saw Zaddion's sword pointing at his groin area.

"Sweet dreams," Zaddion grinned back, ramming the sword into his genitals. The cultist yelped before letting out a blood-curdling scream as he began bleeding out, Zaddion pushing himself back to avoid the blood that was flying everywhere. As the man fell back, Zaddion dragged himself back to the Chimera, propping himself up to get a better vantage point of the battlefield. He began mechanically ordering his men once more:

"Advance. Move two by two, and keep in cover. Focus on cultists with special weapons," he paused, "Someone hand me a clip!"

Xanthis tossed him two spare bolt clips, and he nodded gratefully as he snapped one into his pistol. As the men jumped over the Chimeras, moving forward at the dwindling lines of cultists, Zaddion took steady aim and, one by one, took down each individual cultist with a shot to the head. Soon, only one remained. Zaddion limped over to him, as the cultist trembled, his voice wavering.

"Y-you will n-not win," he seemed to grin in delusion, "The Blood God w-will be satisfied! Hah!"

He was stopped by a resounding shot to the temple, and his head exploded into several chunks as the bolter round exploded within his cranium. Zaddion looked at the blood on his arm with distaste, before turning back to his men.

"As you were," he said awkwardly, groaning as he limped back to the camp, the men continuing on with their work, though a few looked at him with hints of fear and admiration.

"Your zeal and combat ability is admirable," Yathool noted, "But you are very unskilled for a warrior, especially one of your stature."

"I didn't see you offering any help," Zaddion replied, aggravated by Yathool's comment and his bleeding leg. He applied a tourniquet to clot the wound as he searched the supplies for some pliers to dig out the shrapnel.

"We had to observe your combat ability, to see if you would be of any use to the Craftworld," Tara replied pragmatically, "Surely you understand that we are not doing this for your benefit alone. The Ni-Shan must have something to gain from assisting you..."

"And?" Bones walked over, his smoking plasma gun in hand, "What is your judgment?"

"You and your men are good combatants, if not efficient ones," Tara said, "The Craftworld will benefit from your help - and you from ours."

Zaddion sighed as he found some pliers, taking off his wet cap and rubbing his glistening head, before searching for some alcohol to numb the pain. Bones took out several small bottles of gun oil and brushes and went off to maintain his new favorite weapon. Quintus walked over and quickly grabbed a box of mechanical supplies, dragging it over to the Leman Russ to begin his impromptu repairs. Occasionally, a stray cuss could be heard from the innards of the Russ as Quintus burned or cut himself on the many wires he was trying to repair.

"Can one of you help me?" Zaddion looked over at the Eldar Banshees and Yathool, who were all maintaining their equipment and looking on at the humans with a haughty air of superiority, "I need someone to hold my leg still while I pull out the bolter fragments."

One of the Banshees spoke up, "I... That is, we, were ordered to only assist in times of dire need. You are obviously still okay, as you are still responding to external stimuli. We cannot assist you."

Zaddion merely looked on incredulously, and when he realized she had been serious he snorted and motioned for Gebbet to hold down his leg as he began the painstaking process of removing the embedded shards from his leg.

Gebbet merely shook his head at the Eldar and did as Zaddion instructed, looking on grimly as blood poured out profusely, the commissar seemingly dazed as he slowly picked away at the bits of metal that had ravaged his leg. Tara looked uncomfortable, though the emotion was lost through the neutrality of her helmet, and for that she was thankful she had chosen to wear it. Yathool was barely interested in the scene before him, and instead was busy relaying the morning's events to a rather tired and frustrated Farseer.

"Farseer Ria," he said, "It would be wise to calm yourself. Take control of the situation - not the other way around."

"I am merely tired of the Orks," she replied warily, her emotions barely registering over the crackle of the vox, "Grotstompa is becoming increasingly hard to control, and I fear what will happen when we lose our grip over him entirely... Without him, even with the renegade mon-keighs, I doubt we will be able to hold off the Imperials for long... Unless..."

Yathool listened intently.

Ria sighed, "We have to eliminate the Lord-General. If we can manipulate the mon-keigh's hierarchy to put Zaddion in charge, we may be able to abandon the Ork Warband and focus solely on assisting the humans. At least then there would be a smaller margin for error."

"With all due respect, Farseer Ria," Yathool replied, "The Lord-General is well-protected. We cannot risk destroying the very allies - no matter how primitive and thuggish they may be - we are using to help us."

"I heard that," Bones glared at him, but Yathool continued his conversation without so much as glancing his direction.

"How strong is the Warband?" the ranger asked.

"I..." Yathool sensed hesitance in Ria's voice, "I am not sure. They captured one of the planetary space ports, and they're moving towards an under-defended manufactorium for parts and weaponry to fuel their campaign. If my estimates are correct... I hope they are not... The Orks will begin assaulting the manufactories in three, maybe four, weeks. As it is, the Imperial Guard are doing an admirable job of slowing down the advancing forces, but they are taking heavy casualties and we cannot expect them to last forever."

"I see..." Yathool murmured, "How many weeks away is this from our current location?"

"Around two weeks - assuming the cultists in the area don't slow you down," she said, Yathool perking up at hearing this, "But even if you do get there before them, you won't be able to marshal a sufficient defense: the Imperial Guardsmen there are loyal to the Lord-General, and I doubt they would be willing to work with us. Our only option is to-"

"Destroy the manufactorium," the Ranger finished.

"Unfortunately, yes," Ria continued, "But destroying it means crippling the mon-keigh's defenses, and that would just lead to the Orks overrunning the planet. As it is, though, I see no alternatives - we must destroy the plant without the humans catching wind it was us. Otherwise, they may be less than cooperative."

Yathool realized he had been speaking to her over the vox, and not telepathically like he should have, and his head peered up at the guardsmen in the camp, scanning for any signs that any of them had overheard him. Luckily enough, Bones was helping Quintus repair the Leman Russ, Zaddion was conversing with Gebbet as he continued pulling numerous shards out of his leg, and the rest of the men were either conversing among themselves or checking the supplies and weaponry for defects.

"How do we get the renegade mon-keigh's to cooperate?" the ranger's voice was hushed, near silent, "They will obviously not agree to destroying one of their own factories."

"We don't know that..." Ria began, "Continue en-route to our base. I'll try and explain the plan to their commissar. Hopefully he will be more willing to cooperate than most of the other humans. If recent events are any indication, he'll agree to destroy the factory if we can convince him that it will help further both our cause and his. Farseer Ria out."

"Goodbye," Yathool finished, fingering his vox-piece next to his ear. He walked over to the tank to see how repairs were going.

_"If I had known the mon-keighs would've taken this long to repair the tank,"_ he thought smugly, _"I would've damaged it a little less. This is getting to be less amusing and more aggravating... Still, have to judge how well they adapt so we know their limits when a real problem arises..."_

"Try starting it now," Quintus waved at Bones, who was sitting in the turret. Bones nodded and popped his head back inside, shifting several gears and cranking the motor. The tank sputtered, nearly coming alive, before dying as smoke rose from the frontal armor where Quintus had popped open one of the seals to repair the damage. Quintus groaned and popped his head back into the thick smoke, coughing as he tried to find the source of the electronics shorting. Groping at various hot wires, he hissed as his already bruised and battered hands were subjected to yet more punishment, but continued relentlessly testing and retesting various combinations, with no success.

"Forget fixing the engine," Zaddion got up, his outer commissar uniform now wrapped in bandages around the spot where his leg had been shot, "We'll just drag her along using the Chimeras. Can you at least fix the cogitators?"

"That's more electronic work than mechanical," Quintus replied, "Sorry, sir. Can we function alright without them?"

"We can," the tank commander replied, "But we'll need to manually sight any targets we want to fire at, so don't expect her to run at 100 percent. Plus, the peripheral turrets are automatic, so they'll be offline as well - only the main gun."

Zaddion sighed, rubbing his bald head as he fanned himself with his cap, "Bones, any ideas?"

"None that are feasible, sir," he said, "Williams, if we can rewire the tank's flank turrets to manual triggers, do you think we'd be able to use them like autoguns or heavy bolters?"

"Maybe," Williams pondered the idea, adjusting his tank commander cap quietly as he sat on the turret, "We could, but we'd have to modify the tank to hold turrets for the gunners to sit in - even if we did have the time, which we don't, we don't have the supplies necessary."

Sensing his chance to intervene, Yathool cut in, "Farseer Ria wishes to discuss with us a plan concerning some of the manufactoriums near Antioch."

"What of them?" Bones' curiosity piqued.

"The Orks will be attacking them soon," Yathool began, and Zaddion's lips curved into a grim frown as the ranger continued, "So to counter them we'll need to move to our base within a few days. From there, we can coordinate a strike plan to kill off the Warband once and for all. In addition, we may find the parts and the help needed to repair your... what did you call it? Leman Russ tank."

"Sounds alright to me," Bones looked towards Zaddion, who merely shrugged, "Alright then. Quintus, have some men hitch the tank to the Chimeras, and do it ASAP. Let's get this show on the road."

As the latches and chains of the Chimeras were snapped onto the waiting tank, Zaddion merely shook his head and eyed Yathool wearily. He'd have to keep a closer eye on that Ranger from now on.

"You seem disturbed, Commissar," Tara noted, "Perhaps it would be wise to share your experiences and receive input."

"Nothing's amiss," Zaddion dismissed her with a wave of his hand, but she persisted, darting in and out of his vision as she danced around him. He made no motion to stop her and merely continued, "It's just... Never mind. Go bother Bones, I'm sure he's enjoying the view from here."

At mention of his name, Bones turned away and pretended to be working hard on some dataslate, much to Tara's amusement. Abandoning the lost cause that was Commissar Stern, she glided over to Bones and began dancing around him. The lieutenant merely gritted his teeth, doing his best to ignore her. Needless to say, he was not as well-trained in mind warfare as Zaddion was.

"Do you mind?" he asked irritably, pocketing the data slate with a grunt before walking over and checking the supplies on-board the Chimeras for the 50th time, "I have better things to do than watch you pirouette and spin all day long."

Tara feigned a hurt voice, "I thought you'd be enjoying the gracefulness of a dance," her voice changed to a smug tone, "Or are you primitive mon-keighs really as barbaric as our kind portrays to our children?"

Perhaps it was the dancing, brushing her tantalizingly close against him, or perhaps it was her incessant use of the word "mon-keigh", but something deep in Mordeci Wrax cracked as soon as the words left her lips. He turned towards her, a sneer on her face. The expression quickly disappeared as his fist impacted her left cheek.

No words were exchanged, merely a quick intake of breath as she suddenly cloaked before him, his mind barely registering her absence as he fell off-balance and his fist impacted the side of the Chimera. Flinching back as his bones cracked, he felt her behind him as she drew her sword, raising it to his throat as he fell back onto her.

"Do not tempt me, mon-keigh," a razor-edge entered her voice, "I will not hesitate to kill you at the earliest convenience."

Bones merely chortled, swatting away the sword with his broken hand. Tara let go, her mind reeling as she realized that he was unafraid. Though shocked, she paused only for a moment before retaliating, ramming into him and crushing his body against the Chimera in front of him. His aggravated back injury shot waves of pain flying across his spine as he screamed. His chest began heaving as the air left his lungs, and his vision began going in waves...

"Enough!" Zaddion shot off a bolt round, the shell impacting Tara at her side and tearing a huge hole in her armor. As she stumbled back, groaning, Bones fell down on top of her and both of them panted quietly, too weak to continue their bitter fight. Commissar Stern walked over to them, shaking his head as he held his pistol up, the barrel still smoking from the expended round.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he snorted at them, wagging his finger, "Acting like little children."

He looked over at the other men, who had paused when the fight had began, "Two of you get over here. Put them inside the Leman Russ, and make sure they don't make a mess of each other. Go."

The men returned to their jobs, and Quintus and Gebbet jogged over and dragged the duo back to the tank, the environment around them a frenzy as men continued the preparations for travelling. Quintus grabbed a medikit and he and Gebbet administered to the two as best they could. Tara had little damage herself, merely grazes thanks to the protection her Howling Banshee armor had afforded her. Bones himself was not as lucky, sustaining several broken bones and knuckles, and several nasty-looking bruises in his chest. His breathing was shallow, but otherwise he was fine.

A few hours later, the pair awoke, taking in their surroundings with confusion as they felt the rumbling of the tank treads beneath and around them. Realizing they had been moving for a while, they looked toward each other before scoffing in contempt.

"To think," Tara spat at him, "Out of all the possible idiot mon-keighs in this little rebellion, I get stuck sitting with you."

Bones scoffed before coughing up a storm as his weakened chest found itself unable to sustain speech. Resigning himself to merely being insulted, his anger defused after his earlier outburst, he merely stared at her with hollow eyes and blinked.

"Well?" her voice suddenly felt small as she shifted uncomfortably, his eyes tracing her every move, "Not going to say anything?"

A quiet heave came and went as Bones struggled to regain control over his breathing.

Tara merely gestured and turned away, trying to get Bones' impassivity off her mind.

_Perhaps I have broken him,_ she thought, at first with a sense of glee, and then remorse, _All the while I mocked him, and now he falls silent... What could he be thinking?_

Bones, as if reading her mind, opened his lips and whispered almost inaudibly, "I don't hate you."

"Hmmm... What?" Tara perked up, her eyebrows giving away her confusion, "You... _don't_ hate me?"

Bones shook his head, "Anger got the better of me... I apologize."

He reached his broken hand out feebly in a gesture of friendship, and Tara gripped it carefully, shaking it back and forth. The exchange was awkward, to say the least, but it was friendlier than most they'd had over the past two days. Bones replaced his broken hand, carefully caressing it with his good fingers as he shifted his back uncomfortably. Everywhere ached, and the slightest movement, even from the rumblings of the tank, brought upon him more pain. He simply remained silent, clenching his jaw every once in a while to keep himself from grunting or whimpering out.

Tara got up, steadying herself, before moving to sit next to him.

"Have you ever fought anyone else?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Orks," he muttered up, gritting his teeth in between, "Chaos. Mostly Eldar, though."

Tara gave him a small smile and gently leaned on his shoulder, inciting even more pain as the weight of her head bore down on his spine. He grimaced, and Tara suddenly shot her head back up, muttering quiet apologies in an alien tongue. He merely shook his head and grinned. She cautiously placed her head down once more, this time receiving no resistance from Bones, and sighed quietly. Though the two would continue to have a rather abrasive relationship in the weeks to come, at least they could get along without having episodes the likes of which probably were part of the cause of Zaddion's increasing facial wrinkles.

Outside, the guardsmen were granted a reprieve from the torturous march in the form of the Chimeras. Having reached flat ground, Zaddion gave the group permission to ride around in the transports instead of walking, allowing them to rest their tired heads as well as cover double the distance they travelled going up the mountain the previous day. The Eldar strike force sat alongside the guardsmen, silently watching and judging them. Though many of the veterans were weary of the Xenos presence in the vehicles, no matter ally nor enemy, some of the fresher faces saw opportunities for connection and possible friendship with their Eldar compatriots.

Those new guardsmen came to learn that the Eldar did not appreciate their offers of friendship. In fact, such offers were often met with angry threats backed by spears and power swords. The greenhorns quickly stopped making such offers, and the veterans merely chuckled all the while at the foolishness they saw before them. Regardless of this fact, the Eldar continued giving positive comments where they were due, and while this was rare, Zaddion and his men felt a little more at-ease with the Howling Banshees as the day went by.

The same could not be said for Zaddion and Ranger Yathool.

As night fell, the ragtag group found themselves in the middle of a prime ambush spot. Though Yathool seemed uneasy and requested - nay, demanded - the group continue onward to a safer location, Zaddion refused and (against his better judgment) ordered his men to pitch camp in the middle of the valley.

The huge crater they were sheltering in had softened through years of erosion and become a natural-looking valley with varied wildlife and plant species. A huge road, unused since the Imperial Guard's first assimilation of the planet a few millennia ago, cut through the crater, providing access from east to west in what used to be a vital supply route before the manufactoriums to the south were constructed, eliminating the necessity of transporting troops and equipment from the main bases in the west to the eastern seaboard.

Though the roads had seen little use since then, the guard towers and various abandoned husks that used to be filled with bustling activity remained, hollow testaments to the Imperium's heyday on the planet. The crater, shielded from outside sound and vision by the huge mountain ring surrounding the inner valley, was the perfect kill zone for anyone savvy enough to set up an ambush.

And unfortunately for Zaddion, Chaos may have been corrupted, but they still retained their wisdom from their years as Guardsmen.

"Sir... what's that noise?" Gebbet looked around, spooked by the rustling and creaking that was coming from a nearby abandoned guard tower. He raised his las rifle wearily and motioned for several men to stack up nearby.

He was on the ground before he could even scream out anything.

"AMBUSH!" Gebbet quivered on the ground as hot plasma seared its way into his left shoulder, "AMBUSH!"

The camp suddenly came alive as men dropped all their supplies, going for their weapons left in the Chimeras. Several were shot down in a fury of bolter fire as several Chaos Marines revealed themselves from within the ruins. Zaddion raised his bolt pistol, managing to down one before another took his place, the Marine's voice booming.

"You have been honored by the Blood God," the Chaos Marine seemed to care not for the carnage erupting around him, continuing to speak, "It is an honor that you shall be sacrificed so that he may rid this world of those wretched Imperial and Eldar scum. Prepare for your sacrifice!"

**Author's Note: **Chapter 3 is done. A bit longer than I intended but otherwise up to speed. More Ork action in the future, and of course the resolution to the little Chaos ambush that's just begun. My research paper due dates are catching up with me, so expect updates to have longer intervals between them. I'll try to compensate by making chapters a bit longer, but for now expect a little less. Sorry about that.

As for story arcs, the Eldar Exigency arc is set to go for another three or four chapters. After that, we'll see where the plot takes us.

As always, happy reading! Oh, and please leave reviews!


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